PRISONER OF TIME 1 © 2007

What I write does not belong to me,

Words released to the wind, without pretension,

They are echoes of a distant voice,

Which humanity in silence will obey.

Each verse is a reflection,

Of what the world dares not say,

And in the stillness of the page,

Truths begin to blossom.

I am not the owner of what I express,

Merely a channel, a guiding hand,

And in the silence that surrounds me,

The words become the verb to awaken.

Humanity, in its silence,

Will obey the murmur of creation,

For what I write does not belong to me,

But to the spirit of emotion.

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